


Episode 20: How to Solve Sexual Tension 102

by elven_enchantress



Category: Community, Generation Kill
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Community AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-08
Updated: 2012-03-08
Packaged: 2017-11-01 16:19:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/358836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elven_enchantress/pseuds/elven_enchantress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brad will never know why Dean Schwetje thought it a good idea to have a paintball contest at a Community College whose membership largely consists of Ex-Marines.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Episode 20: How to Solve Sexual Tension 102

**Author's Note:**

> So. One day I had this crazy little idea that began with ‘What if Brad was Jeff?’. And it was all downhill from there. Because really, there’s no way Walt and Ray aren’t Troy and Abed in some alternate universe, and just. I’m sorry? Anyhow, this probably isn’t the last of this crossover. I have a bit written where Trombley teaches Spanish, and Patterson is the BAMF English teacher, and Dean Schwetje has seasonal drag. So obviously that has to see the light of day at some point. Also, I know the title kinda sucks, but I was having a lot of trouble coming up with something meaningful and ironic, so you get the obvious reference one instead.
> 
> Story Note: the bit where Ray and Walt have their own talk show is derived from the “Troy and Abed in the Morning” segments.
> 
> Spoilers/Warnings: Vague spoilers for episode 1x23 of Community; no plot-related ones for GK

“So.” Ray says, looking around the cafeteria with a mixture of amusement and disgust. “This is definitely not one of Encino Man’s better ideas.”  
  
The caf looks like something out of a clichéd high school movie food fight. Or, it would, if it weren’t also splattered with traces of neon colored paint splotches. Brad rolls his eyes. “The Dean doesn’t have good ideas, just thoughts that he vomits on the poor, ignorant community. Although,” he adds, raising his gun in a threat, “I must admit I’m quite pleased to see you, Ray. I thought my trigger finger was yearning for a certain trailer trash fuckup to come blithering around so it could have the pleasure of shooting him in the face.”  
  
“Aww, but you can’t cause any permanent damage with that paint. What’s that color called? Brad’s Bleeding Heart, or something gay like that.”  
  
“This is as close to permanent as I can come right now, so I’m inclined to take it.” Brad smiles slowly, his canines peeking out from underneath his upper lip, and takes aim with deliberate care.  
  
“NOOOOOOOOO!” Walt catapults from nowhere, throwing his body in front of Ray’s with reckless abandon, his eyes squeezed shut, hands flung up to shield his face as though fearing the worst.  
  
Brad nearly shoots Walt, but he didn’t come to finish off this corn-fed hick; he has bigger fish to shoot. “Move, Walt.”  
  
“Not on the life of my unborn child!” Walt proclaims, trying to push a very amused Ray away from Brad’s sightline. “You can’t have him, Brad.”  
  
Brad’s not really sure what to do with this—he suspects it has something to do with that assignment for film class Walt has been moaning about for the past week.  
  
“I suppose I’ll just have to shoot you as well then, Walter.” He cocks the trigger, hammer clicking ominously. “It doesn’t have to be this way, you know. Just surrender the fucker, and no one gets hurt.”  
  
“I can’t Brad.” Walt looks like he might actually burst into tears, and just keeps shoving Ray behind him. “Please, Brad; show some mercy. Don’t leave my baby to grow up without a father.” With this, he pats his stomach tenderly.  
  
“Really? Walt, I’m not sure what I’m more surprised at: that Ray could get it up long enough to impregnate you, or that you haven’t shot him yourself already.”  
  
“Concise as always, Brad.” Walt turns back to Ray, giving him a look. “He does have a point.”  
  


Ray pouts, lips bulging ridiculously; he looks like someone injected his face with a mutant strain of Novocain. “I totally got it up! I got it up all night long, and I lost track of how many times—”  
  
Walt stops the ramble with a hand over his mouth. “We all know you’re not impotent, Ray.” he soothes, before pulling his hand away making a disgusted face. Ray, the freak, had apparently licked him. Lovely.  
  
“Yeah, but Walt, where am I going to stick it now that you’re preggers?”  
  
“You’re not going to stick it anywhere.” Walt growls, blatantly ignoring Brad in favor of glaring at Ray.  
  
“I’m not sure if I’m ready to take an oath of celibacy right now Walt.” Ray shifts uncomfortably. “I have needs, y’know. Manly, potent needs.”  
  
“You’d knock someone else up? While I was carrying _your child!_ ” Walt shrieks in rage, and shoots Ray in the chest with his paintball gun, then drops the gun and slaps Ray across the cheek.  
  
“Aaaand, Cut!” Gabe Garza emerges from behind a trash can, grinning and adjusting his tortoiseshell glasses.  
  
“Goddamn Walt, that hurt!” Ray clutches his chest in the spot where lime paint stains his shirt, simultaneously rubbing his reddening cheek. “You promised it wouldn’t be at close range.”  
  
“Sorry” Walt mumbles apologetically. “I got really into character.” He turns over to the corner where the vending machines rest, yelling “Gabe, I think we got it!”  
  
Gabe twirls some dials on his camera, completely oblivious to Brad’s eye-rolling. “That was awesome, guys. Casting Brad as the psychotic assassin who carries a vendetta against Ray for stealing his woman was spot-on. And Walt, I totally felt for your unborn child. Great job.”  
  
Walt gives Gabe a thumbs up before turning back to Ray and inspecting his wound. Brad merely watches the tableau in resignation, lowering his weapon. However, before he has a chance to move any farther, two sharp cracks split the air, and Walt and Gabe are suddenly splattered in bright orange.  
  
Brad’s gun is raised before they can do more than blink, taking cover behind one of the condiment tables in order to look for the source of the shots.  
  
He doesn’t have to wait long—Nate Fick comes strolling out from the Men’s Room, looking smug, gun held steady before him. He takes in his victims, grinning widely, and waving a hand in an ironic goodbye, before turning his attention back to the shadows of the cafeteria.  
  
“Brad, I know you’re out there.” He crouches beside a counter, eyes gleaming in the soft gloom of the cafeteria.  
  
“How touching, Nathaniel. I always knew you could sense my presence.” He doesn’t move; Nate may be pretty, but he most certainly isn’t stupid.  
  
Ray rolls his eyes, throwing a Look at Gabe while wrapping an arm around Walt. “Wow, it’s like attending a course on Advanced Stalking. I suppose we should leave you two to your showdown full of unresolved sexual tension. Let’s scram Walt, I bet we can go terrorize the chess club some more before the game ends.”  
  
Brad refrains from retaliation in the form of pointing out how tightly Ray’s hand curls around Walt’s waist, but only because he’s too focused on the way Nate’s circling the recycling bins. He barely registers Ray and Walt’s exit, Gabe trailing behind them; he can’t tear his eyes away from Nate’s bright head weaving in and around the pools of fluorescent light.  
  
“So Brad, I’ve certainly had an interesting day. You?”  
  
Nate’s voice is almost purring with mischief, and he can’t help the tingle that runs down his spine. “Well, if you count sniping the Glee Club out of the trees interesting, I’d suppose it could qualify. Reminds me a bit of that time with Ferrando. You remember?”  
  
“How could I forget?” Nate’s tone is bone dry. “Ray was nearly strangled to death by a yarn rope, and I had to defend Walt from two-thirds of the Academic Decathlon team.”  
  
“Mmm, that’s right.” Brad shifts as slowly as he can, moving towards the ice cream dispensers and away from Nate, who seems to have a sixth sense where Brad’s concerned. “I almost forgot how hot you looked with that yardstick spear.”  
  
“You flatter me, Brad.” The dryness is back, but Brad can detect the faintly pleased undertone at the compliment. “But flattery won’t get you out of this. I can hear you breathing, you know.”  
  
“That’s cute, really, but unless you’ve been bitten by a radioactive spider recently I’m not inclined to believe you.” He tries to stop breathing anyway, and almost jumps when a shadow creeps out in front of him not more than ten feet away.  
  
Brad’s pretty sure he should stop talking now, but he can’t help himself. He’s never been able to hold back, not where Nate is concerned. “Where am I now, Nate?” He shifts towards the exit; he figures if he can make a break for the library, he might have time to regroup.  
  
“You won’t be able to hide forever Brad.” Nate starts humming tunelessly, prowling around the linoleum floor like a large cat. Brad sends a prayer to the heavens and makes a break for the door.  
  
He knows the instant Nate sees him—exactly three seconds after his dash, a ball of paint whizzes past his ear, and he grins, adrenaline spiking his blood and giving him the speed he needs to escape the caf before Nate can catch him. He makes it to the library without a hit, the sounds of Nate’s footfalls pushing him faster and faster until he’s on the other side of the glass door and regulating his breathing to something soundless. Nate enters about ten seconds after him, and only realizes his mistake when Brad throws one arm around his chest and drags him backwards until Nate is pressed tight against him, breaths puffing out in gusts.  
  
Brad leans down, mouth brushing Nate’s ear. “Looks like I caught you.”  
  
“Looks like.” Nate’s still breathing hard, but Brad’s pretty sure that doesn’t have anything to do with the chase that took place minutes ago. At least, he hopes the two don’t correlate.  
  
He tries to get a subtle grope in without loosening his hold on Nate, but the plan backfires when Nate manages to elbow his way out from underneath Brad’s bulk and turns around, whiplash quick, to pin Brad in turn up against the wall.  
  
Their faces are about three inches apart, and Nate smiles sweetly before pressing his nose into the curve of Brad’s neck. He tries to suppress a shiver, but then he feels something wet that might be a tongue, and he’s so screwed he can’t even articulate how much. Brad doesn’t even notice that Nate’s pinched his gun before he hears a clunk and notices the emptiness of his hand.  
Even knowing how vulnerable he is, Brad can’t find the will to try and do anything about it, especially when Nate drops his own weapon to the floor, along with his bandolier and belt, and then Brad’s not really thinking at all because Nate is _right there_ , nosing and licking his way across Brad’s skin, and he doesn’t really _want_ to do anything about it. He just wants to feel it without interruption.  
  
A few alarm bells go off in his head when Nate starts backing towards the long table in the center of the room, and some instinct is telling him that having sex on this particular table might be somewhat sacrilegious, but he can’t really bring himself to care all that much when Nate sprawls out across it and proceeds to pull Brad along with him, shedding his shirt along the way, and then Brad is very, very distracted by the expanse of skin in front of him, and all thoughts that don’t circle around Nate disappear.  
  
  
  
 **Cut to Commercial Break:**  
  


_Tonight on the (Show Whose Complete Viewer Pool Consists of Serial Killers) Very Much Too Late Show with Walt and Ray:  
  
Fun! Laughs! Surprise Interviews with the School’s most Infamous Teachers! (Senor Trombley refused to be interviewed, on the grounds of being repulsed by the “fucked-up queerness” of the production. Secret Footage from the pool locker rooms has recently come to light, and will reveal all…)  
  
And Tonight Only! A Never-Before-Seen Clip from Walt and Ray’s New Movie (Directed, Produced, Written, Cast, Designed, Costumed and Filmed by Gabriel Garza)  
  
All This and More, If You Can Stay Up Late Enough for Another Episode of the (You’d Need an IV of Caffeine to Watch This) Very Much Too Late Show!_  
  
  
 **Cut Back to Show:**  
  
  
  
“So.”  
  
“So.” Brad tries not to cough in the silence that has descended, and focuses instead on the arm he’s slung across Nate’s midriff.  
  
Nate, of course, looks completely oblivious to any awkward silences that might have ensued, and shifts closer to press his face against Brad’s chest. Brad decides to go with it; after all, they just engaged in some very—intimate—relations. There’s no reason he should be feeling awkward just yet. There has to a waiting period for that kind of thing, probably. Most likely.  
  
“I hope Ray doesn’t have cameras rigged up in here.” Nate comments, almost casually, as though he doesn’t really mind the existence of a potential porno starring them, and in the hands of Ray Person no less.  
  
Brad does his best not to have an aneurysm out of horror. “Thank you for that lovely mental image, Nathaniel. I suppose I’ll have to kill him after all.”  
  
Nate chuckles into his breastbone, his lips tickling Brad’s skin. “All that to defend my honor, Brad? I’m touched.”  
  
“You shouldn’t be. It’s really just a flimsy excuse to hide all the pent up rage I carry towards him.” He winces as the edge of the table pokes into his back. “I suppose we should resume the war.”  
  
“Mmm.” Nate rolls off the table, stretching his torso and flexing his arms. Brad doesn’t bother trying not to stare. He’s pretty sure Nate’s doing it on purpose anyway. “I suppose you have a point.” He reaches down to retrieve his pants, and retrieves his gun from its holster, clicking the hammer and pointing it at Brad.  
  
Brad never noticed how Nate can smile like a shark when he wants to. He feels its edge slice into his gut, cutting deep.  
  
“Goddammit. I didn’t realize you would go this far, Nathaniel. Sleeping with the enemy; quite the diversionary tactic, I must admit.”  
  
Nate keeps smiling, sharp-edged and dangerous, and before Brad can blink the trigger goes off and a bright splash of paint flies towards him and—  
  
hits the table top in a corona of bright yellow. Nate throws the gun behind him onto the floor, and climbs back onto the table, dragging one slim finger through the paint before he crawls back towards Brad.  
  
Brad is frozen; he can’t take his eyes off of Nate, the way he slides over to him, a bright flare of mischief in his eyes. Nate reaches his side, and extends his finger out, brushing the edge of Brad’s cheekbone in the paint before dragging it across his own face. He smiles, the sharp edge lost in the sunshine color. Brad can’t breathe, doesn’t really see the need for it anymore.  
  
He feels the ache in his stomach leave when Nate nestles against his side again, dragging one of Brad’s arms across his waist and closing his eyes, lashes spotted with yellow. “Can we go to sleep now?”  
  
Obediently, Brad closes his eyes, a smile tugging at his mouth. “So, game over, huh?”  
  
“Something like that.” Nate shifts, and Brad can feel a grin pressed against his chest. “In the immortal words of Ray Person: Checkmate, motherfucker.”  
  
“No talking about the children when we’re in bed.” Nate’s shaking in quiet laughter, and Brad can’t help but join. “I was looking forward to winning that klaxon that the Dean was promising as a prize, though. It’s too bad—you’ve stopped me for acquiring another method of Ray-torturing.”  
  
Nate rolls his eyes at him. “It didn’t exist. I was doing some recon in the Dean’s office in order to take out Griego, and it turns out he was planning to give the winner a book of poetry instead.”  
  
“Well, I suppose it’s a good thing I won’t get the opportunity to kick his ass then. Expulsion isn’t on my to-do list.”  
  
“What else is on the list, then?” Nate’s doing that purring thing again, and Brad has no trouble admitting that he has no defenses against it.  
  
“I suppose I could show you.” He moves fast, managing to pin Nate under him. Nate doesn’t really seem to mind all that much. “I don’t think we desecrated the table enough yet, anyways.”  
  
“Ohhhh.” Nate moans as Brad grinds his hips against his, his smile fading. “They’re all going to hate us.”  
  
Brad grins, unrepentant. “I think I can deal with that.”

**Author's Note:**

> So, yes. I don't have any regrets. Just be glad you're getting this instead of the Scooby Doo AU where Brad is Daphne. Really.


End file.
